Fillmore! Prometheus Rising
by Cipher Scyther
Summary: This will be an ongoing saga chronicling the tale of a much older Cornelius Fillmore and company. A mysterious organization, known only as the Prometheus Group, has begun its magnum opus: a nefarious plot to distribute a powerful narcotic throughout some of America's greatest cities, but to what end? UPDATE: Thanks to all for reading! I promise that new chapters are coming soon!
1. Chapter 1

**FILLMORE!**

_Prometheus Rising_

_Intro: This will be an ongoing saga chronicling the tale of a much older Cornelius Fillmore and company. The setting is Boston, MA where Fillmore is currently employed as a police officer. His old partner Ingrid Third has vanished, and they haven't been in contact for some time. Now, a mysterious organization, known only as the Prometheus Group, has begun its magnum opus. A nefarious plot to distribute a powerful narcotic throughout some of America's greatest cities, but to what end? Cornelius Fillmore, former Safety Patrol Officer, stands between the Group and their plans. Fortunately, he will not stand alone. Throughout this saga friends old and new will offer their support, but a group as powerful as Prometheus won't be without an ace or two in the hole. Love, lies, betrayal, and redemption, not to mention a little action, are waiting. Please enjoy and make sure to leave some constructive feedback! _

The storm continued to pound away upon the city of Graypoint, a small community just outside of Boston. The howling winds whipped sheet after sheet of rain against the frame of the late model sedan parked just outside of an ancient brownstone. The car's black body paint was beginning to fleck and peel in several areas, and the rear taillight had been shattered. The only thing that distinguished it from any of the other junkers on the curb were the black tinted windows. If one were able to see inside the vehicle they would see to individuals quietly watching the streets and buildings.

The first, one Cornelius Fillmore, was busy scanning the windows of one of the streets many duplexes. Now, at twenty-five years of age, the once top officer of the X Middle School safety patrol has continued his pursuit of justice as a member of the elite Boston Police Department. After thirteen years, Fillmore has grown into a man. Almost six feet in height, he still sports his iconic shaved head and thick glasses. His job has kept him fit, sculpting his body into a wiry but muscular specimen.

The second was another fellow, this one more portly than Fillmore, his slate gray shirt's buttons straining to constrain his belly. His checkered tie was spotted with stains, remnants from of various meals. His thick sausage fingers fiddled idly with the communication device that was sitting between the two officers. The badge that was stuffed in his pants read "Detective Gregory Carmine."

"Do you really think those scumbags are going to be dumb enough to come back here?" Carmine said to Fillmore. His voice was deep and gravelly, a testament to his many years of indulging in cigarettes. His small watery blue eyes moved from the microphone to the back of Fillmore's head, the latter still actively engaged in scanning the evening streets through the thick torrent of rain. "I mean, there's no reason for them to use this place anymore. Why don't we just call it quits and head back to the station?"

Fillmore sighed heavily. This was the third night that they had been staking out this area, a known hive of drug runners and other illegal activity, and as much as he disliked his fellow officer and didn't want to agree with him, he was beginning to get the feeling that this might be a dead-end. Still, his gut told him that this could be huge. "Listen man," Cornelius began, barely able to cover an exasperated sigh. "This is our job. These guys are moving some seriously sick stuff. If we don't get it off the street, then a lot of innocent people are going to ge- Hold on!"

Something had moved just outside of his vision. Three shadowy shapes were just coming out of one of the large buildings down the street. Two of them were carrying large black canvas bags. "Disco!" He exclaimed, harkening back to his middle school lingo. "Looks like it's on." Just as the men were exiting, white van came careening around the corner. It looked like they had planned this out well. There was no time to get back up in place. If they got into the car, the drugs could disappear into circulation before they could stop them.

"We have to move! Now!" Fillmore turned the keys, and the the car jumped to life. The roar of the engine turning over was drowned out by an extremely fortuitous clap of thunder. The thugs were unaware that anything was amiss, and continued to move towards the van. He threw the car into gear, and gunned it. The squeal of tires on pavement reverberated through the block, and the criminals froze immediately. That split second of hesitation was all that was needed.

"What in the hell are you doing?!" Carmine exclaimed as they shot towards the van. His eyes were as wide as saucers, and his stubby fingers gripped the dashboard with all of his might. The veins in his neck stood out in stark contrast to his pale pasty face that had completely been drained of color.

"Buckle up, baby." Fillmore said to his partner. An instant later, the black sedan rammed the white van, catching the driver unawares and successfully pinning it against another car. Dazed, but otherwise unhurt, Fillmore pulled himself out of the car. The driver of the van was comatose, and the men on the sidewalk were standing frozen, shocked by what had just happened. The officer whipped out his gun, and pointed it at the would-be drug dealers.

"Freeze!" He shouted. "Boston PD! Drop the bags and get on the ground!"

The three men exchanged glances and without a word between them, they split up in different directions. Fillmore looked to Carmine, who was just now managing to haul his bulk out of the car, and said, "I'll go after the one's with the bags. You go after the other one."

"We should just call it in! Let someone else handle it!" The other detective replied piteously.

"There's no time!" Fillmore reiterated. "They're getting away now!" Before Carmine could rebut, Fillmore was already taking off after the two men with the bags, leaving Carmine standing insolently in the rain.

The two men must have been weighed down by the bulky bags, because Fillmore had no trouble making up ground on them them. Puddles exploded as their feet pounded out a tattoo against the slick pavement and crushed gravel. Fillmore's breath came in quick bursts, his lungs strained to pump oxygen as fast as possible to compensate his muscles for their exertion. "Stop!" He cried out repeatedly in between rounds of thunderous claps from the storm. "Stop or I'll shoot!" In response, one of the men reached beneath his jacket and yanked out something from an interior pocket. A flash of lightning sliced through the sky, briefly illuminating the entire area and exposing the mystery item. A gun.

_Pop! Pop! Pop!_

Three wild shots zinged in Fillmore's direction. He threw himself behind a dumpster as the bullets pinged against the metal and pavement. Fillmore took careful aim and squeezed off a couple of shots. The first one seemed to graze one of the suspect's shoulders but the second one hit the other suspect in the leg. The suspect went down as if his legs had been cut out from underneath him. Fillmore cautiously, but quickly moved towards the downed suspect. He was groaning and spewing profanities, but he seemed like he wasn't going anywhere. Fillmore kicked away the crook's weapon and continued after the first suspect.

The man had found his way into an alley that had been blocked off by a tall chain link fence. "Nowhere to go," Fillmore said, keeping the gun trained on the criminal. The man's face was shadowed by the brim of his baseball cap, but Fillmore managed to make out a the thin outline of a smile slowly spreading across his visage.

"You think this is the end?" The man said slowly. "This is just the beginning. You have no idea what you're dealing with here."

Suddenly, Fillmore noticed a small canister rolling towards him. Without thinking, he flung himself around the corner of the alleyway, just as the canister began hissing a thick cloud of smoke. After he realized what it was, he moved back into the alley. The smoke dissipated slowly, but when it finally did Fillmore saw that he was standing alone in the alley.

He muttered a stream of curses under his breath. Moving closer to the fence, his foot made contact with the inert body of the smoke grenade. As the rain continued to soak his clothes and mat them to his body, he reached down and picked up the canister. Silently he berated himself for allowing the man to get away, and he began to curse himself as he realized that the drugs were out of his reach. Another fork of lightning split the sky. Again the area was bathed in the luminescence brought on by the brief flash. In that flash Fillmore saw something that he could barely believe. Slowly, as if scared that any e. It must have fallen off when the bad guy scaled the fence. "Disco. 'Bout time I managed to catch a break." Fillmore grabbed up the bag, and returned to the other con who was still grabbing his leg and piteously moaning. He scooped up the other bag in his hands, and hoisted the perp to his feet.

"Damn man! Take it easy!" The criminal whined. "I'm injured!"

"Like I care," Fillmore growled. "Get moving."

Together they returned to the scene of the car wreck. Carmine had stuffed himself back into the car and was clearly sulking. When he saw the Cornelius coming back, he pushed the door open and climbed out. "Where have you been?!" Carmine said angrily.

"Working," Fillmore said. He tossed the two duffel bags onto the ground at Carmine's feet. He shoved the wounded con into the back seat of their car and cuffed him. "Where's the other one?"

"He got away." Carmine muttered, not making eye contact with Fillmore. Cornelius opened his mouth to berate the other cop, but he knew it wouldn't matter. He bit back the tirade that was welling up and instead moved to the car.

"HQ, this is car 35. We need an ambulance and some back-up at our location."

Fillmore hung up the mike, and gazed back at the canvas bags. They were unexceptional, and clearly the type that were available practically anywhere. He opened the bags, and just as they expected, they were stuffed with bags of pills. They didn't look like anything that he had seen on the street before, even more indication that this was a batch of the rumored new drug. The only identifying mark on the pills was a small flame on each capsule. The rain had finally stopped, and as the two detectives waited for back-up Fillmore couldn't help but reflect on the escaped suspect and his cryptic warning. It was clear that this was just the beginning, but the question was: the beginning of what?

End Chapter One


	2. Chapter 2

_RECAP: In the last chapter, we found Fillmore 13 years after his time at X Middle School working as a detective for the Boston Police Department. He and his new partner, Detective Gregory Carmine, just managed to prevent a new drug from hitting the street. Unfortunately, one of the escaped cons left a cryptic portent of a much darker evil on the horizon. Now, Fillmore finds himself facing an inquiry regarding the events of that night. With his job on the line, and an unknown threat descending on the city, Fillmore must beat the rap if he hopes to have a chance of protecting the city._

Fillmore finished the last of his coffee. After the reinforcements had arrived, the two detectives had given their statements and returned to the station. The chief had heard about how things had played out during the course of the bust. He had been happy to hear that they had gotten the drugs, but the fact that two of the suspects had escaped, not to mention the damage done to the vehicles at the scene, had caused him to question Fillmore's decision making in the field. Now, there was nothing left for him to do but sit at his desk and work on filling the report whilst the chief decided his fate.

"You look down, Fillmore." A soft voice spoke from behind him. Fillmore turned in his chair to see TQ Schrader standing behind him. TQ had matured into an elegant man. As tall as Fillmore, though nowhere near as muscular, he still managed to resonate quiet strength. The detective was well aware that despite his appearance, TQ was an extremely skilled martial artist and incredibly intelligent. He wouldn't want to be the young man's enemy. As usual, he was dressed in an incredibly sharp three piece suit, probably custom tailored, replete with matching loafers and cufflinks. "Is there a problem?"

Fillmore climbed out of his chair and gave the other man a firm shake of the hand. "Good to see you, TQ." Fillmore and TQ had met each other when they were at X. Though initially Fillmore had been put off by his acerbic attitude and apparent disregard for the case he had been working on, he eventually was forced to recognize the intellect and wisdom of the boy when he had helped them close the case. After that, they had grown to be close friends, Fillmore often seeking TQ's advice and insight on cases and TQ enjoying the engaging conversation with an intellectual equal.

During college they had kept in touch through e-mail and letters, and Fillmore was quite happy when he found out that TQ had landed a job working at the Boston Public Library. TQ released his grasp on Fillmore's hand, and then slid it back into his pocket. "You look like you could use some time away from the office." He said coyly. "Would you like to join me for dinner? I know this great sushi place that just opened up around the corner."

Fillmore chuckled dryly. "Don't you always?" He sighed and looked around the office. He should keep working on the report, but his mind just wasn't on the task. With the inquiry, and the warning buzzing around his head, he could definitely use some time away to think. "Sure. Let's go."

Fillmore grabbed his jacket from the chair, and followed TQ out the front doors. The ground was still slick from the earlier storm. Droplets fell from the roof and pinged rhythmically against the ground. The restaurant was only a few minutes from the station. They were seated quickly and ordered.

"So," TQ folded his hands underneath his chin. "Care to tell me what's bothering you, and don't try to tell me that it's nothing."

The officer sighed heavily. He knew better than to try to slide one past TQ. Granted he didn't want to talk too much about the warning the con left. Everyone at the station had written it off as nothing. They believed that there wasn't any reason to give the warning much credence, but TQ had always been a confidant. So, Fillmore explained everything to his old friend. Once he concluded his story, TQ ruminated quietly for a few minutes before he spoke. "This could be problematic," he said after swallowing a mouthful of sushi. "Still, how can you be sure that this criminal wasn't just full of bluster as your comrades seem to think?"

"Call it gut instinct," Fillmore replied, pushing sushi around his plate. "I know there's something more to this. I can feel it. This is just the beginning."

At that moment, Fillmore's cellphone chirped in his pocket.

"Fillmore," he said into the phone. He listened silently as the chief asked him to return to the station. He closed the phone, and shoved it back into his jacket pocket.

"I take it a decision has been reached." It was clear by the tone of TQ's voice that it wasn't a question. "Well, I need to head home anyway. I have work to do. Let me know how things turn out. Don't worry, I'll take care of the bill." He laid a few dollar bills on the table and walked out. Fillmore pushed away from the table and returned to the station.

Fillmore opened the door to the chief's office. Carmine was already sitting down. The chief, his face its usual ruddy red was pacing behind his desk. He was clearly not happy. Also in the room was councilwoman Perry. Fillmore grimaced internally. Councilwoman Perry had had it out for him since he had first joined the force. She was not a fan of his sometime brusque methods of police work.

"Have a seat," Chief Hammerly said gruffly.

"I'd prefer to stand," Fillmore replied and crossed his arms. He had an idea about what was coming, but he didn't plan on going down easily.

"Detective Fillmore," the Chief fixed him with a steely gray gaze. "Sit."

Fillmore locked eyes with the man, but he finally sat down.

"Good," the man's face softened. "First off Fillmore, you did a good job with the drugs and nabbing the perps. However, two escaped, and you caused substantial property damage."

"I told him we should have called for backup!" Carmine interjected.

"There wasn't any time," Fillmore retorted.

"That's the way you always are! Rushing in like that!"

"It's better than you always waiting for someone else to do the work."

"Enough!" The Chief slammed his big meaty fist on the desk.

Both detectives stared at each other angrily, but they didn't say another word. The councilwoman walked around to the front of the Chief's desk. She was a short woman, stocky in build, and dark skinned. Her chestnut hair was clipped short and severe. She was dressed in a dark blue pantsuit complimented by a pearl necklace. She fixed Fillmore with her dark green eyes, and a he could swear that he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Listen detective," the councilwoman. "No one is taking away from your numerous acts of valor and service to this city, but there's been a number of complaints against your...unique style. The city has had to shell out money time and time again to cover the damages. I'm sorry, but you've crossed the line this time. Chief, go ahead."

The Chief glanced at the Councilwoman with thinly veiled contempt. He wasn't happy with the situation, but at this point, the situation was out of his hands. "I'm sorry Cornelius, but turn in your gun and badge. You're suspended indefinitely pending a full investigation and subsequent hearing."

Fillmore surged to his feet. His face was contorted into a mask of pure rage. He tried to think, but his heart was pounding in his ears and blood was rushing to his brain. He slammed his hands down on the desk, sending various baubles careening to the floor. Everyone in the room was startled at the sudden outburst. Even the normally stalwart Chief was taken aback.

"This is bullshit, Chief! Something big is on the horizon, and you're going to need everyone to deal with it. This isn't just some common street gang. Whatever is going to happen is going to be huge, and these drugs are just the beginning!"

"That's enough!" The Chief bellowed, cutting off Fillmore's words. "The decision has been made. Now are you going to cooperate, or am I going to have to ask Detective Carmine here to force you to do so?"

Fillmore could see the wicked grin curling on Carmine's lips. It was clear that he would love nothing more than to strong-arm Fillmore into giving up his badge and gun, or at least attempting to do so. Well, he wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. The now suspended detective pulled his weapon and shield out of pocket and tossed them onto the Chief's desk. Without a word, he turned on his heel and stomped out into the bullpen. The other officers watched in silence as Fillmore grabbed some personal items from his desk. Once the task was finished, he stormed outside without a word to anyone. Behind him, the collection of officers continued to stand silent and frozen in the station. They all knew that Fillmore might have been unorthodox, but he was one of the very best on the force. Now that he had been suspended, what did that mean for the city?

_Elsewhere, _

_She hated coming here. She really did. The building looked no different from all the others in the area. It was a simple grey office building with five stories. Squat and unimpressive, it hardly looked like something that should warrant a second glance, let alone inspire the kind of icy fear that was slowly crawling its way up her spine. A sign outside the building identified it as the headquarters of the Prometheus Holdings Group LLC. Mustering her courage, she walked to the revolving glass entryway. A stout porter was waiting at the entrance. He was wearing a velvety red jacket that was trimmed with gold and adorned with gold buttons. His black pants were perfectly creased, not a wrinkle on them, and tapered their way to a pair of shined and burnished black loafers._

_The man said nothing, but gave her a wide toothy grin from underneath his thick blonde mustache. The smile always made her uncomfortable. She didn't know if the man knew what really happened within these slate grey walls, but even if he didn't he was still one creepy bastard. She pulled her black trench coat tighter against her slender body and ducked the man's gaze before heading inside. _

_The interior was sparsely furnished, a few potted ferns lined the walls, and some abstract pieces of art hung on the walls. The floor was bare, save for a thick native american rug in the center. At the back of the foyer, near the bank of elevators, a security guard sat at a large oak paneled desk. He was thick, muscular, and had that no-nonsense look that indicated that he clearly was not to be trifled with._

_The man glanced up at her briefly and the woman gazed at him through her brilliant green eyes. After a moment he jerked a thumb back towards the elevators._

"_Thanks," she said, but the guard had already forgotten her presence. She headed to one of the elevators and climbed inside. The doors automatically slid shut, and then she knew that there was no need to press any button. The momentum shifted, and she could feel the elevator began its descent. She knew she had a few minutes, and against her will, her thoughts began floating back to how she ended up in this situation. She shook her head, her black hair swinging back and forth violently, trying to get rid of the thoughts. She was here now, and that was all there was to it. Once she did what they wanted, she could finally leave all of this behind. _

_The elevator dinged as it came to a stop. The doors parted, and she stepped out. The room she entered was vast. Large conveyor belts were erected in the middle of the room, and a number of men wearing gloves were busy mixing, packing, and sorting. None of them glanced up from their work, the clacking of her heels being drowned out by constant drone of the machinery. At the back of the building, there was a door that led into a small office. It smelled of mint, and a panel of flat screen tv's lined the walls. She removed her jacket and hung it up on the coat rack that stood in the corner. Standing in the center of the room, wearing a black sweater, red and black plaid skirt, and black tights, she waited. _

_After a few minutes, she began wringing her hands nervously. "What's taking so long?" She said to herself softly. As if on command, three of the screens came to life. Each screen showed a figure, shrouded in shadow and obscuring their features. She had no idea what their true identities were, but she knew that they were the very top of the Prometheus Company's chain of command. _

"_Welcome back," one of the voices spoke. As usual, it came out distorted and tinny, and there was no way for her to be sure which figure had spoken. "You've done well in your work so far."_

_She didn't respond. She knew she wasn't expected to. These meetings were solely meant to give her new direction. Not for her input._

"_However," the voice continued. "Some of our agents have been less than effective. That's why we've brought you in."_

"_So where am I heading now?" The agent piped up. She knew that wasn't the way things were supposed to go, but she was tired of being a puppet on their strings. Outright rebellion was impossible, so this little resistance was the best she could do for now. _

"_Right here," the voice said. "The great city of Boston needs your unique skill set."_

_Right as he finished speaking, a man from the exterior room entered with a black duffel bag. He tossed it onto the floor. She didn't have to look. She knew exactly what was inside. She had done the same thing in numerous other cities across the country. The man unzipped the bag. Inside were a number of bags filled with little blue and red pills each stamped with a single burning flame. _

"_You know the drill," the voice said. "Just make sure it gets where it needs to be. No screw-ups like the previous individuals we hired for this task."_

_She reached down, zipped up the bag, and hooked her shoulder underneath the strap. "Is there anything else?" She asked while moving toward her jacket and the exit. The sooner she could get out of here, the better she would feel._

"_Just one thing."_

_She paused. Her back to the television screens, and her hand stalled inches away from her jacket._

"_You know the price of failure. Just work continue to work as efficiently as you have been, and there won't be a problem. After all, we wouldn't want any unfortunate accidents, right Ms. Ingrid Third."_

_The televisions immediately cut out, leaving Ingrid trembling with rage in the silent room. She was glad that the images had disappeared so they couldn't see the hot tears that were streaming unimpeded down her cheeks. She knew what she had to do. "I'm sorry Fillmore. I'm so so sorry." With that, she headed back out of the office, slamming the door behind her. _

End Chapter Two


	3. Chapter 3

_Recap: Suspended. Detective Cornelius Fillmore has been removed from the force pending a full investigation and hearing. Meanwhile, the Prometheus Group has mobilized one of its top agents, one Ingrid Third, to spread its poison among the city of Boston. With its defenses weakened, and the Prometheus Group putting its plans into action, the city is ripe for the picking. Can one man stem the tide or will his past relationship with Ingrid render him impotent and unable to stop the impending disaster? _

Fillmore wandered down the streets of the city. The sky was slate grey, and thick clouds hung low over the city. The wind was fierce, and even though he had bundled himself in a thick brown bomber jacket, it managed to cut through him like a knife. His footsteps echoed off the surrounding buildings and served to reinforce the feeling of isolation that held him in its grips. Few people braved the streets nowadays, and not just because of the coming storm the ominous clouds promised, but because of a different kind of storm. With Fillmore on the bench, the police had proven to be little match for the mysterious source of a hot new street drug.

For the first few days, there were some minor reports of the new drug cropping up, but it hadn't been linked to any major events, but then everything had exploded. Suddenly, people were starting to go berserk at the smallest thing. One minute you would have some man standing in line at the DMV, and the next, he would have ripped out the jugular of several customers in line with his teeth. The medical examiners, psychologist, and every other so-called expert had absolutely no explanation for the sudden aggression. There was no pattern or similarity in terms of the perpetrators ethnicity, gender, or social status. The only common thread was traces of the same mystery drug in their systems. The media had taken to calling the drug, "Berserker," after its obvious effects on people. The police were at a loss as to how to stop the spread of the drug, for a dangerous as it could be, it was apparently as equally as addictive. Not a raid nor a traffic stop went by these days without a package of the familiar blue and red pills being found somewhere in the vicinity. All of this, and still Fillmore was expected to sit by and wait quietly until a final determination could be made on his status as a cop. Well, he had never been one to let one or two little rules stop him from seeing justice done. He may not have had the badge anymore, but he was still just as much cop as he had always been. With these thoughts in his mind, that's how he found himself standing outside a run down old brownstone building by the name of "Sonny's."

On the outside, Sonny's served as an off-track betting bar. It mostly catered to mid-to-low income men who believed they had more chance of striking it big on the the ponies than they did with the lottery. In reality however, Fillmore knew that the place catered to wide range of vices, and it's proprietor, Sonny Lombard, was dialed in to almost everything that went down in the streets. If anyone had a lead on where and how Berserker was making its way into the city, it would be Sonny. Fillmore pushed the door open and stepped inside. As usual, the place was only dimly lit, and a low cloud of smoke hung lazily in the air, an interior reflection of the exterior weather conditions. The space wasn't large, just a long wooden bar and a few tables set up to accommodate the fellows inside. However, what it lacked in space it more than made up for in television sets. On every wall and support beam, there was at least two flat panel sets, all broadcasting races from around the country and world. It was a Thursday, so it wasn't quite as packed as it would be after pay day, but still the die-hards braved the weather and media warnings about Berserker in the hopes that today would be their lucky day. Few of them gave Fillmore more than a passing glance as he sidled up to the bar.

"Sup, Bruno?" Fillmore queried the bartender. "Sonny around?"

Fillmore had once heard a fellow cop tell a joke about what a cross between an elephant and a rhinoceros would be. He had long since forgotten the punch line, but the joke had always swam to his mind whenever he saw Bruno. The man was _big, _at least seven feet tall, and solid as a tank. His thick skin hung in loose folds on his body, and his jowls were thick and waggled mightily whenever he spoke. He had poor eyesight though, and was forced to where a thick pair of horn-rimmed glasses which he thought lent his appearance some much needed gravitas. His beady blue eyes looked down upon Fillmore. He set aside the mug that he had been "cleaning" with a dirty brown bar towel and ran his sausage-like fingers through his mop of sandy hair.

"Sorry Officer, but Sonny is busy right now." His gap toothed grin reinforced the insincerity of the apology. "Maybe you could come back some other time."

"Cut the crap, Bruno." Fillmore said, adjusting the glasses on his face. "I'm not here to play games. I just have some questions."

Bruno just crossed his arms across his ample belly and continued smiling. Just as Fillmore opened his mouth to speak again, a door at the back opened up. Out from the office, a familiar face appeared. Sonny Lombard, former X Middle School hustler extraordinaire. He gestured to Fillmore to follow him to the back room. He shot one more glance at Bruno, who was none to happy to see Fillmore walking to the back.

Inside the room was a small office. It was very sparsely decorated, similar in layout to the main bar, with a few personal touches.

"Well Officer Fillmore, or should I say _former _Officer Fillmore?" Sonny said as he made his way around his desk and into the chair behind it.

"News travels fast," Fillmore said, taking a seat in the only other chair in the room. Fillmore noticed the subtle smell of peppermint in the room. Sonny was an on again off again smoker, and when he was on one of his off cycles, he chewed peppermint like a madman to fight the cravings.

"It does pay to be well informed, my brother." Sonny replied with a grin. "Speaking of which, I imagine that's why you stopped by today. Let me guess, you want to know about Berserker?"

Fillmore didn't bother confirming the Sonny's guess. For years Fillmore had used Sonny's vast connections to the criminal underworld to ferret out information on a variety of cases, and in all that time, the one thing he had learned was that Sonny loved the sound of his own voice. He was well-connected, he knew the score, so when Fillmore came around, he usually had an idea of what the detective wanted. If Fillmore tried to press Sonny on anything, he would simply clam up. No, it was better to let him prattle on, he always got to the main issue in the end.

"Hot drug," Sonny continued. "Me? I never got into the drug business myself. Too messy. Gambling is just as addictive, with a lot less hassle. Plus, it's completely legal. Sure the lump sums in returns may not be quite as big, but it stacks up. Slow and steady, Fillmore, that's the way to do business."

Sonny paused, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a red and white candy. He pulled it out of its plastic wrapper and tossed the peppermint into his mouth. As he sucked on the candy, a silence fell over the space. During this interval, Fillmore could hear the first peal of thunder rumbling across the sky, and indicating that the storm was just about to break.

"Now, where was I?" Sonny said. "Oh right, Berserker. Now just because I'm not in the business, doesn't mean I wasn't approached. I mean game recognizes game, y'know? Whoever is behind this drug, they want it handled right. They weren't just handing this stuff out for distribution by any ol' pusher. No, they wanted it done fast, and widespread. Kind of like they were on some kind of deadline. Kind of strange isn't it? I mean, it's not like the drug is going to get any less addictive, so what does it matter if takes three days or three weeks to get it out there?"

More thunder rumbled and growled, a flash of lightning cut the sky and cast shadows through the lone window in the room. Rain began to pelt the window in large fat drops, beating out a tattoo that sounded like it was loud enough to shatter the glass. The window overlooked the alleyway behind the building that separated it from its neighbor. Another flash of lightning, and Fillmore thought he briefly saw someone standing on the fire escape of the other building. When another bolt cut the sky, the figure was gone. He banished the vision as a figment of his imagination and bought his attention back to Sonny.

"Is that everything?" Fillmore asked.

Sonny just leaned back in his seat and grinned. "That was just the free sample. What do you think this is? Some kind of charity?"

Fillmore sighed, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a waded stack of bills. Since he was suspended, he had to fund every bit of his little independent investigation himself. Fortunately, he had squirreled away quite a bit of money over the years, but it still pained him to watch his savings quickly disappear in Sonny's safe.

"Well, it's not my usual rate, but because we're old friends I figure it'll buy you one thing. Something for old times sake."

Fillmore leaned in closer.

"The people behind this are powerful figures. This isn't about making money, these people are beyond that. There's something more going on here." He reached into his desk and pulled out a small flash drive. "This is a recording of the meeting I had when they approached me. I think you'll find it illum-"

_CRACK!_

The window exploded into a million pieces, as the unmistakable ring of a gunshot snapped through the air before it was quickly covered by another clap of thunder. Fillmore flung himself to the ground just as another bullet whistled through the air and lodged itself somewhere in the wall behind him. He knew he was in trouble, the bullets would keep coming, thanks to the storm masking the retort, it would be some time before anyone took notice and called the police. He crawled along the floor as another bullet splintered the wooden floor a few inches from his head. He crawled closer to the desk, where he found Sonny slumped over and bleeding steadily from a gunshot wound to the back of his head.

"Damn." Was all the prayer he could offer for the fallen criminal and former friend. Fillmore noticed that he still clutched the flash drive in his fingers. He pried it lose, just as another bullet buried itself into the desk. Whomever was shooting was steadily drawing a bead on him. He had to get out now, but how? Just then, the answer to his prayers walked through the door. Bruno, apparently sensing that Fillmore and Sonny had been back there too long, had come to check in on the situation. As soon as he had pushed the door opened, he stood frozen as he took in the sight of the destroyed office, and dead body of his boss. Once his eyes locked on to Fillmore, his nostrils flared in range, and he bull rushed the detective. Fillmore rolled away from the charge, they're reversal of positions leaving Bruno's massive frame blocking the blow out window, and disrupting the sniper's line of sight. Another bullet ate it's way into Bruno. Fillmore didn't bother to take the time to watch the mountain of a man collapse to the ground, for he was already out into the main bar and through the buildings door.

Fillmore's feet pounded through the puddles as he ran as fast as possible away from the area. Too many questions buzzed around his head with no answers for any of them. How many people were there? Were they following him? Maybe this was an assassination attempt against Sonny and was in now way tied to Fillmore's investigation. Somehow he suspected that the last assertion simply wasn't true. They probably hadn't expected Fillmore to be there, but a man as connected as Sonny, who turned down their request to work for them could be a major problem. Of course he would have to be eliminated. Perhaps they had known about the recording. If that was the case, it was more urgent than ever to get somewhere safe and look at the video. He couldn't go home, the shooter might have already alerted his associates to his presence and subsequent escape from the shooting. No, he had to go somewhere else. Cutting down a side alley, he knocked rapidly on the beige door of a smaller brownstone well concealed from the main roads. The door opened slowly, and Penny Madrid stood wearing a pink cotton bathrobe. Her auburn hair was wet and clinging to her scalp. Clearly he had interrupted her during a shower.

"Fillmore?! What are you doing here?" She said, clearly surprised by his unannounced appearance. Penny had become an attorney after college, and she and Fillmore had worked together on several cases during his tenure for the Boston PD.

"I don't have time to do a lot of explaining. Can I borrow your computer?" He began plugging the flash drive into the computer before she even had a chance to respond.

"Sure, but what's going on?" She said as she leaned over his shoulder and watched as the monitor sprang to life. On screen the image of Sonny's office from the vantage of a security camera appeared. The camera was at a poor angle, and all he could see was the back of Sonny's guest's head, even that is hidden underneath a hood. Clearly, the camera had been activated some time in to the conversation because it seemed like they were finishing up.

"_-member what I said." Sonny's voice comes over the recording. "These sound like dangerous people you're in bed with." On screen Sonny shakes his head back and forth, and exhales a cloud of smoke from the cigarette that dangles from between his lips. "Of all the people to get involved in something like this, you were the last I would have bet on. I just hope you know what you're doing. If Fillmore finds out..."_

_The stranger pushes up from the chair. They're wearing a long black trench coat, and they'_

_re hands are shoved deep into the pockets of the coat. The person pauses, as if they are not certain about how to respond to Sonny, or even if they should. Finally, they speak, a woman's voice. A voice that Fillmore hasn't heard in a very long time. "I don't have a choice. They haven't given me one. If I don't do this..."_

"Fillmore..."Penny said slowly as her eyes moved from the computer screen to his face.

The detective's face is a contorted mask of fear, anger, hurt, and confusion for he recognized, just as Penny did, the sound of that voice. His mouth opens and closes repeatedly as the same soft prayer is whispered into the air. "Please not her...Please not her...Please not her..."

_The video continues to roll. The mysterious woman speaks again, "He won't find out. Even if he does, it will be too late. No one can stop them. No one. Prometheus is too powerful. Maybe, once it's all over, he'll understand why I did what I had to do. Even if he can't forgive me." _

_The woman turns to leave, and the camera finally manages to reveal the identity of Sonny's mystery guest. The black hair is longer than Fillmore remembered, but there is no mistaking the familiar white streak, or those sharp green eyes. She's even still wearing the same red lipstick._

"Ingrid!" Penny said to Fillmore. "Fillmore, that's Ingrid!"

End Chapter Three


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